HALLOWEEN

Anonymous said:<< post removed >> somelikeithot said:BNY - thank you for contributing.This is my brand of coffee anyway.
I enjoy posting in this thread. I guess I can fell your genuine and kind spirit.
Call it physic, or maybe, I have had a little glance into your heart by way of which you write, and or maybe 'cause you're a teacher, and I sure do love to learn Ms.kitty!
PS I stink at gramar[/quote]

Do not worry about grammar when you write the first dirty copy
Download OFFICE LIBRE for FREE....it does a spellcheck and a grammar check....and even counts words.....!

I'd known she was a witch from the second day of our acquaintance.    
   
(We met via an outline older men and younger women dating site.)    
   
We'd been online friends for more than a decade.    
   
She was divorced, I was in a sexless marriage.    
   
Yes, there had been online sex--    
     the usual:    
           stripping (sometimes to music),    
           posing,    
           exploring/displaying for each other's eyes,    
           every form of auto-eroticism imaginable,    
           and, of course, masturbation.    
   
I wrote her into several of my erotic short stories;    
she has (had?) the only copies. Damn.    
   
We'd actually met twice.    
Kissing, necking, petting--    
that's as far as we'd gone in person.    
   
Hadn't chatted, texted, or messaged since she got re-married.    
   
October 1st, Yahoo email out of the blue.    
   
She had a favor to ask.    
   
Would I?    
Could I?    
Maybe?    
Join her for a "little" celebration/ceremony on the 31st?    
   
She guaranteed I would like it.    
And, if it worked, "liking" it would be the understatement of forever.    
   
Sure,    
I was definitely up for it.    
   
I flew into Austin, at dusk, the 31st.    
   
She met me and we drove out of town.    
   
A small meadow, surrounded by trees.    
     Trees were mostly bare, that time of year.    
     Grass was dry, brown and was trampled down --flat.    
     Not a blooming flower in sight.    
   
She asked me to carry things from the car.    
     Big bundle of something white,    
     small basket of candles,    
     bottle of wine (red),    
     five narrow bladed 8 inch long silver knives with gold handles,    
           each had a different colored stone in the hilt.    
   
Carried things to the center of the meadow.    
   
Unfolded the white bundle;    
     large;      
     silk;    
     13 feet or so across;    
     from star point to star point.    
     Twisted black and red silk rope sewn to white silk cloth.    
     Perfect five pointed star containing a pentagram.    
   
(I told you she was a witch.)    
   
Staked the points down with the daggers.    
     Silk rope had a loop at each star point that just fit the dagger.    
     Stretched tight.    
   
When I reached to smooth the wrinkles out of the silk,    
she grabbed my hand.    
   
Nothing inside the pentagram,    
nothing touches the silk,    
until exactly 11:13 that night.    
   
Late enough by then,    
that it would have been pitch black,    
if it hadn't been for a full harvest moon.    
   
Some would have called it a witch's moon.    
   
Carefully put a candle at the pentagram points,    
(not the star points),    
without touching the silk.    
   
Time for a glass of wine.    
They were large glasses.    
Half bottle didn't filled the two glasses.    
Crystal, I think.    
Old, I'm certain.    
Odd tint to the glass.    
Red?    
   
These were her rules:    
   
     I could only drink from her glass    
           while she held it to my lips.    
     She could only drink from mine    
           while I held it to her lips.    
   
     one sip    
     I removed an article of her clothing    
     one sip    
     she removed an article of my clothing    
   
     stripped by the end of the first glass    
   
     one swallow to remain in each glass    
   
I was shivering, she was covered with goose bumps.    
     Was it that cold?    
I was a little dizzy, she seemed so too.    
     Was the wine that strong?    
   
Take the last swallow of wine into your mouth, do not swallow.    
She did the same.    
Kiss, mix the wine, swallow, half for me half for her.    
   
Really weird effect that had.    
Dizzy, shivers, erect nipples (they actually hurt --an erotic hurt) on both of us.    
   
Poured the remainder of the wine into the glasses.    
   
More rules:    
   
     Same rules on drinking from each other's glass.    
   
     No clothes left now.    
   
     one sip    
     suck, nibble, tongue massage her nipple    
     one sip    
     she did the same to me    
   
     another sip    
     another nipple    
   
     and another sip    
     finger caresses her clit    
     and another sip    
     stroke my dick    
   
     keep it up until the glasses had only one swallow left in each    
     stretch it out until 11:13    
   
     set the glasses down    
   
Light the candles.    
         
At exactly 11:13,    
     hand in hand,    
     fully aroused,    
     engorged,    
     wet running down her legs,    
     stepped over the red and black rope and into/onto the pentagram.    
   
These were her instructions:    
   
     She would lie down within the pentagram,    
     head to one point,    
     a hand to each of two more points,    
     and feet to the last two points.    
   
     I would lie down on top of her.    
     Interlock her fingers with my fingers,    
     Wind my legs around her legs.    
     Stick my tongue in her mouth.    
   
     I was to fully penetrated her,    
     as deeply as humanly possible.    
   
     We were to lie there,    
     without movement,    
     entwined,    
     aroused,    
     engorged,    
     wet pooling on the silk,    
     completely engaged,    
     motionless.    
   
     At exactly the stroke of mid-night,    
     I was to thrust into her,    
     one thrust for each stoke of the clock,    
     on the 12th strike,    
     we would cum together.    
   
If "things" did not work,    
     we would have a decades worth of delayed sex,    
     on a silk pentagram sheet in the woods at night under the full moon.    
     Drink the last swallow of wine.    
     Get dressed, pack up, and leave.    
     I would be on my return flight by noon.    
   
If "things" did work,    
     sometime between the first and 12th stroke,    
     we would become observers,    
     no longer controllers of what our bodies did.    
           The thrusts would become forcefully painful.    
           Erotically painful for both of us.    
           We would cum together on the 12th stroke;    
           at 12:30, cum on its single stoke;    
           at 1:00, cum on its single stroke;    
           at 1:30, cum on it single stroke;    
           at 2:00, cum once on each of its two strokes,    
           at 2:30, once;    
           at 3:00, thrice;    
           and so on.    
   
     At some point we would loose consciousness,    
     awaken at dawn,    
     share/drink the last swallow of wine -as we had with the first glass;    
     and again lie down;    
     in each others arms;    
     wrapped/wound around each others bodies.    
   
     We would be so drained and parts of our bodies so sore,    
     we would be unable to have the sexual release our    
           all consumingly aroused bodies would demand that we have.    
     We would be trapped on the silk pentagram sheet until we did what we could not do.    
     Unable to dress, to pack, to return to Austin.    
     I would miss my flight.    
   
     To eventually die there on the pentagram,    
     or to orgasm,    
     would be our fate.    
   
     And if we did somehow orgasm,    
     its violence might well kill us.    
   
The first strike of the clock,    
my first thrust - - -

I'm baaaack! You can't keep a good vampiress down I always say. Except with a wooden stake, but even then it's pretty dicey. Anyhoooo... for my next offering, here's a ghost story but with a bit of a twist at the end: all the characters are dead. Enjoy!

- Little Girl Lost -
A poem about the supernatural

In night’s slumbering symmetry, the moonbeams swift fell,
Bathing the ancient crossroads in pale, bluish illumination.
The earth was soaked from the rain, and had a damp smell,
A scent that confused the senses: with its’ fetid incantation.
Amidst some old foundation from a house abandoned long,
In woodlands dark and mysterious, in old haunted country…
An owl was perched upon crumbling stones, singing a song,
Cooing of the night that was its’ home, hooting comfortably.
The ruined dwelling could not speak of a fate that unfolded,
Whereby it came to be no more: save as an abode for ghosts.
Their lonely vigil to walk the night, in darkness so enfolded,
Such spirits linger long, and lose all memory of bodily hosts.
The air itself became their abode, things borne on chill winds,
Whose breathing life was ended, though they continue ever!
Only the wise owl recalls of their lives, and their secret sins,
An animal that cannot speak, and so the eternal curse: sever.
Once a family knew the joys of life within the ruined house,
But each died of grief after the tragedy by a storm brought…
Leaving a place of happiness now mirthless as a gray mouse,
Whilst at least one spirit remains there, lost in living thought.
This was a domain of spirits, a crossroads of death, and life…
Where one may wander, for a time; and come to remember.
I wandered there myself attempting to flee decades of strife,
In the month of October, only two months before December!

Outside the dwelling, wolves let cry their howls unto the air,
Whilst the crickets chirped merrily, macabre tunes to play…
For there was darkness on that place not ever bright, nor fair,
And none living there were to speak of it, as live still today.
Quiet divinities of those woods, old goddesses of the green,
Themselves have gone mute with long silence of the years…
And no longer venture forth amongst man to more be seen,
Than as a dream, and so the old place weeps unheard tears.
All that remains is a small tower, in which lives an old soul!
Black curtains over the windows block out even the moon…
And therein lies a secret held, over which none can control.
She walks in a lonely beauty, eternally young in the gloom!
Stuffed animals decorate her lonely bed, amidst red covers,
Of: sewn silk, where the girl would oft lie in a silent repose.
Not dead, but no longer living and having known no lovers,
The child of the night awaits her visitor as cold wind blows.
So like another evening long ago, which she cannot recall…
She rather simply passes through her familiar daily routines.
She knows someone is coming for the owl cries on the wall,
And so she combs her hair, by the light of pale moonbeams.
Her mother is now coming, but she wears a stranger’s flesh,
And so her daughter tries to prepare all things as they were.
The better to make her mother remember, to recall afresh,
Old maternal instincts, which had all meant so much to her!

I came to her dwelling as an exile from the world I had left,
When in that season I thought to forget my mounting woes.
And so did I befriend that ageless soul, she who was bereft,
Of any thoughts of adulthood, lost in her childhood’s throes.
She had no mother, so I was like one to her for a brief span!
I cared for her, living her mother’s role as if I had long ago.
Did I live here once; did I die here once, in this savage land…
Was this my daughter, bringing me back to a place of woe?
We lay upon that scarlet bed, telling stories to one another…
Amidst the candlelight’s dim glow, our shadows monstrous.
Whilst outside, the owl did cry out as it lost a pale feather…
To the coming storm: of which we had been truly oblivious.
We awaited its’ fury, our arms wrapped in warmth shared…
Both of us eternal beings long used to the chills of the night,
Breathing as one, pulses racing whilst we felt utterly scared.
I: like a child myself lost in the reality and memory of fright!
But for my ageless angel I betrayed no sign of my dismay…
I sang a song that kept her content, lulling her into slumbers.
And soon the storm had passed as the dawn brought the day!
I kissed her forehead and she smiled, one who remembers…
The kindness I showed her, and all the love a heart can give.
But as I stepped into the morning glow, I pondered longest,
On why a child would be here alone, and so continue to live.
Undying and immortal as she was, a child is never strongest!

I stood outside the tower, waiting upon the crossroads to go,
Unable to decide which way, when I heard the owl cry out…
As if I should not leave just yet, and I turned around just so,
That I might return unto the tower, to banish my own doubt.
I looked, and the room that had been kept in splendid order,
Now seemed long abandoned, dark curtains hung in tatters…
Dust covering stuffed animals and no sign of a child boarder.
I knew not where she had gone, and that was what matters…
For in that thought I rushed outside and called out so loudly,
Therein lay an old graveyard, where the owl landed proudly,
Upon the grave of a young girl, her epitaph making sense…
Telling how she died in a storm, when a limb had struck her.
I looked, to see a branch through one of the tower windows,
And the night I had spent with the little ghost was like a blur.
It passed into memory, like the mists before bright rainbows!
Her name was too faded to read, upon her gray tombstone…
But I needed it not, to remember her kind and friendly laugh.
As I set out down the crossroads, a being of flesh and bone…
I wept for that little nameless girl, long lost to nature’s wrath.
My daughter, for whom I once grieved until I died from grief!
I recalled what I had named her; it was Lily and I now knew,
The tragedy, as made our life together to be cut all too brief.
And in that knowing, I could move on to the next life so true!

Ut est non mortuus, quod est validus ut eternus recubo...
Quod per insolitus aeons vel nex est validus morior.

Now, for my third and final entry for this contest... here I will revisit my past life as the big D with a somber poem about an old tragedy that affected me in that life and for many lives after. I call it "The Princess in the River". If you enjoyed my first poem about good old Transylvania (ah, the old country!), you'll love this return trip. Though bring tissues, since it ends extremely sad! (This concludes my entries for this contest.)

- The Princess in the River -

Prologue: Son of the Dragon

I was called the Son of the Dragon, in an old guise I wore…
Just one name of many, one scar of countless that I so bore.
People speak of life and death as if a single set of memories,
Can anchor a soul to one or the other, like a cross blessedly.
Yet a cross is but a symbol of torment used for a new cause,
And sometimes death is but a moment when we must pause.
Like an actor, I rose again to play my part in my fresh attire,
Never forgetting lines spoken of old; that burn like cruel fire!
Once I had another name, and wore raiment now long dust,
I was wild in my heart and had a soul burning mad with lust.
Yet love tamed that madness sure, for one whose spirit yet,
Haunts my dreams so oft at night, so that I can never forget.
Green her gown and raven her hair, with eyes sparkling still,
Despite that centuries have passed and, likely, they yet will.
People remember my legend, but of her they oft speak not,
And so I shall immortalize her final days with poetic thought.

Part One: Another Age

Hard it is to tell of her, and yet for love’s sake I will persist,
And resurrect the dread memory, that ghost from my past…
Cold was the day that fell upon the land: and chill the breath!
In my castle, on the mount above the river cold as icy death,
Where ‘round about the wooded lands on and on did range,
Within which so many of the simple folk, did oft feel strange.
Dark forests beneath the cloudy sky, endless in the number,
An image frozen in my mind: that I must eternally remember.
Therein those stony halls, was I then a prince of noble fame,
Of the order of my father so sworn, the Dragon’s own flame.
Bloody were the wars of those times, and scarlet my blade…
The price of chivalry paid in full, though my heart was afraid.
Afraid to lose the single treasure for which my life endured…
The princess who kept me content, and my soul enamored.
Ironic that her name should be lost to me whilst mine spoke,
By so many, who knew me not: a dark god’s cruelest joke!

Part Two: The Final Night

Night was our last time together and so she became queen,
Queen of the night for me ever since, and all as I had seen.
Red was the day of battle to come, to keep my castle well,
And red was the ground near the forests, as fires from Hell.
Dark was the sky above my lands, a storm carrying me on,
As my sword met the armies before it, all of time had gone.
So close we were to victory, as a single act of cold deceit,
Took from me all for which I dreamed, before my sad feet.
An arrow through a windowpane, with a simple note there,
Telling my princess I had perished, laying her heart so bare.
She saw not the place where I fought on, could not know,
That her beloved’s heart still beat, beyond rock and snow.
And so, she leapt from the high tower, into the river below,
Never to know God’s grace again, or feel the winds blow.
In hearing of my beloved’s end, madness so took my soul,
And vengeance rose up in my heart; I had lost my control.

Part Three: Damnation

My soul was lost on that hour, if but an hour is all it takes,
For a soul to become damned, even to linger on mistakes.
To this day men tell tales of red woods thick with blood…
In the land beyond the forests, where I wept a bitter flood!
For every tear I shed that day, a soul was to Hades cast…
Until my rage was wholly spent, and not one foe could last.
To my castle I returned, and held my love’s lifeless form…
Desiring to join her in death so that I might keep her warm.
My hand, that slew a hundred men, now caressed a maid,
So gently that you’d not have known it in woodland shade.
Green the gown she wore as her last, and raven her hair…
The last I’d ever see it again, the beauty of my lady so fair.
So pale was she then, unlike the rosy color of her youth…
For in death, all youth is undone, and lost is all life’s truth.
Eyes once big and dark with love, were now shut in sleep,
Eternally to dream of us, in some paradise vast and deep!

Part Four: One Last Kiss

The priests cast her back into the river, denying a grave…
Although so much for God was lost, even more we gave!
No more for God, for where was he to welcome my love?
Perhaps another could help us, in some dark place above.
I left the priests to perish, when we abandoned our home,
To fight for our country with every bit of flesh and bone…
But before we left the castle to the ravages of time’s hand,
I washed my face in the river, one with her and the land…
One last kiss for the one I so loved, forever swept away,
No more to dance with me, beneath the light of the day.
Her blood was still in that river then, and stained my face,
So that I had to wash again, until I was cleaner than lace!
In night I found my solace after that, and in darkness pure,
I hoped to meet my love again along time’s winding shore.
Another life I walk in now, but how the old ages do haunt,
In the hours of the night, when a maid’s love is all I want!

Epilogue: Vampire

Vampire they called me, for superstitious hearts know ill,
Save what they can imagine, and that does not a river fill!
But I was and am only a man, once perhaps much higher,
Than mere mortals are want to be, if mayhap a tad shier…
For so many secrets have I held that words cannot speak!
Even the gods I walked with are beings sometimes weak.
And so sometimes I must unlock those vaults of my soul,
Letting those who retell my legend once again to know…
That still I exist and I remember things as they once were,
But more than anything else even, I do still remember her!
The princess in the river that still flows strong to this hour,
Who lived in an ancient castle above it: my solitary flower.
In the land beyond the forests, where dark lie the shadows,
Where once the sun smiled upon the lush green meadows.
There we lived and were happy for but one span of years,
I hope that we will meet again and cast away all our tears.

Due to the extreme weather conditions....and to get people AFTER HALLOWEEN.....this competition will be extended by one week........Hope all are OK wrt Hurricane Sandy or whatever it becomes when it comes inland.  

Akuma
evilness crawls from beneath the door      
spirits rise from underneath the floor.      
puppets sing,dance and play      
while Akuma sets in his throne all day.      
     
the undead creeps to find you scared ,    
devouring your body they did not spare.      
while witches and gobblens open your tomb,      
in my life everybodys doom.      
     
Creatures scratch on thee beloved face,        
haunting your dreams in every place.      
     
he sets      
in smile that evil glare,      
do you understand the words i share.      
     
Subete no aku wa watashi to honshitsu-tekina tejun wa mondai o teiji shinaide nigeru koto ga arimasu....      
     
Kuji      
Kuji      
Kuji!!!!    
 
 
-kumiko Yamamoto

Hey where the fuck has Halloween gone to


It's gone to hell and come back as a hallmark holiday
cha ching! hear those tills ring out, sing out
'cos it's not about souls no more
it's about money, that's all
which neighbor is gonna score the best decorations
and which kid is gonna go knocking on doors
with the best designer costume

kids,they knocked on my door the other night
and hardly even said 'trick o treat
before they shoved their bags in my face
"ok I said, I chose trick"
hoping to get some sort of fun outta them

blank fucking faces is all I got
it's like they never even considered
some adult would call their bluff
and make them interact in the spirit of things

then they just stared at me as if to say
"look mister, quit your fucking about
and get the candy out before we die of the hunger"


Jaysus, when I was younger there would have been
any amount of contingencies for an invitation to trick
ranging from eggs and flour to kick ass bangers
posted through the letter box.

yep, it all went to hell and hell threw it back
for being a bitch.

"Halloween Depression"
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P7mFTrukzQ8/TjBmPJKvxwI/AAAAAAAAAw0/zS8QH7EjCXU/s1600/wall%2Bstreet.jpg
Back in the day, we used to have so much fun,
we’d play frightening games scouring the neighborhood
during the witching hours of Halloween night.
Dressed up in scary costumes, we’d
carve pumpkins into jack-o’-lanterns,
tell spooky stories and believe them,
watch gory movies, terrorize the elders up the street,
start bonfires, bob for Red Delicious apples,
and trick-or-treat until our bags were full.
Sometimes, we’d sneak back out and repeat it.
Those were the days, traded our candy like the stock market,
who by the way are pulling the skeleton strings now.
They’re ruining everything just to make a buck,
the kids and goblins are completely out of luck.
This sucks, think I’ll conjure up some ill omens,
send them pronto, and hope
Wall Street collapses.

HALLOWEEN

WINNER
Poetryman

RUNNER-UP: JJJay (J_J_Jay_Jr) and Llamaliscious (skinnyjean)

Thank you to all who participated.
All the poems were of excellent quality.
Making the decision was very difficult.
I salute you all.
With praise,
Kitty    

Thank you Kitty! after never ever, ever, ever  winning a poetry contest ever before, this is my second in a week. I'm going to get an ego if this keeps up, lol...
Now if President Obama wins tonight, I'll have a hat trick and be even more very, very happy!
Peace, JJ